


and into the river we'd dive

by quentinknockout



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentinknockout/pseuds/quentinknockout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Hux acts on orders to drag a wounded Kylo Ren from the snow. The sympathy is unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and into the river we'd dive

**Author's Note:**

> my first foray into any kind of Star Wars fic.

The tracking device yelps softly, and there it is. A bright flashing dot, right in the middle of it all. Trees crashing, ground splintering into ash, everything they’ve built tumbling down.   
A stab of anger hits Hux in the chest.   
I’ll get him myself.   
It has been several years since he’s set foot in the field, yet the adrenaline keeps his thoughts in order. A ship, need a ship. Subordinates shriek at him as he races past, pleading both for direction and mercy. The blood pounds in his ears. He gives no answer.   
Soon enough, he finds what he seeks. A ship, small enough, lightning fast. He sets the co-ordinates robotically, the memory of the controls in his fingertips.   
The earth is opening up like an angry wound. From the air he sees the shape of him, the black robes spread out like wings. For a minute, Hux wonders if Ren’s died there in the snow, but then, under his gaze, the mass twitches.   
It’s him. He’s alive. 

He bites his lip as he manoeuvers to a landing. Time is finite. There is a loud crash, a metallic groan. Through the windshield he sees that the body has not moved. He will drag the bastard kicking and screaming to his feet if he has to.   
‘Ren!’  
He shouts against the wind. There is no answer. The huddled mass on the ground does not appear to hear. Hux swears under his breath, tightens his coat around his shoulders, and staggers out into the blinding white.   
Another tree creaks, threatening to crush the ship where it stands. As Hux nears, up to his ankles in snow, he sees Ren rise to his knees. He is unmasked, bruised, the dark curls falling across his face like a curtain.   
The General resolves that he cannot let any lower-ranked officer see something like this.   
‘Come on.’   
He reaches him, extends an impatient hand, painfully aware of their shortening window. The ice is threatening to crack, the fissures around them widening.   
Ren’s fist is curled in the snow. There is a slow drip of blood from his shoulder.   
‘Come on,’ Hux repeats, this time with added venom, to make sure Ren knows exactly who has wasted time for him.   
Ren raises his head. And Hux sees it - the scarlet split across his face, the red at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are watering with dull, glassy shock. He is trembling and weak like a starved dog. For a moment, Hux’s chest constricts with something foreign. Pity.   
Ren continues to blink at his offered hand, and as much as Hux loathes the other man, there is too little time.   
Kylo Ren is a bigger man. Nevertheless, Hux reaches down, quick, decisive, slinging Ren’s arm around his shoulders, and Ren does not resist. Beneath the robes, he is sinewy, but Hux feels him trembling against him, letting him take his weight.   
Together, they make it the few yards to the ship in a crooked run, as the blood spots the white in their wake, Ren’s breath ragged and pained in Hux’s ear.  
Once inside, the General lets him slip to the floor.  
‘Who did that to you?’ As he moves to the controls Hux’s disdain is deliberate. Necessary, to restore the order. I didn’t do this for you, he wants to add, but somehow, it seems pointless.   
Ren shakes still, freezing. Hux feels it again, the unwelcome stab of sympathy.   
The journey is silent. Ren gives no thanks, shellshocked and bloodstained. In the silence, Hux comes to an understanding. Ren must have gravely underestimated his foe. Several times, he glances back, but Ren has hugged his knees to himself, the scar still glimmering across his face.   
A shame, Hux finds himself thinking, unwillingly. To his own private humiliation, he had always found the unmasked Ren to be unnerving, both in his youth and his beauty. Such a superficial scar could be repaired, but somehow Hux feels Ren would rather wear it. All the better reason to be covered, to hide his failure and disgrace.   
The ship docks into merciful quiet. Through the window, Hux can see no stray troops. It is best this way.   
From the corner, Ren raises his head, his eyes shining.   
‘Where-’ he mumbles, but his voice is distant, like a child calling through fog.   
‘This way.’ Hux has already promised himself that he will not allow the Supreme Leader to see Ren like this, defeated and ruined. He would hate for the Leader to have any cause for doubt. There is no dignity in this for either of them, but this way it must be.   
Ten years Hux has known Ren and loathed him and never before tonight has he laid a hand on him. But as they stumble down out of the ship, Ren now leans on Hux fully, limping alongside him, hand on his arm like an invalid.   
The corridors remain bare. Hux’s commlink buzzes. He knows there is help on hand should he call for it. But he will not.   
They move together down the echoing hallway, one leading the other like a stray. The steady red stream from Ren’s shoulder has splattered Hux’s uniform sleeve. Strangely, Hux is not angered.   
Down a corner, three doors across, and they’re in refuge in a cavernous officer’s quarters. Hux locks the door behind them, and as he does, Ren seems to completely collapse.   
‘Supreme...Leader.. I…’   
He is on his knees again, his clothes heavy with damp and frost, rocking as if in some delusion. His dark eyes slide round the room, uncomprehending, unfocused. In a moment of panic, Hux wonders whether it is madness or hypothermia. But they are signs of shock, and he makes a decision he does not like.   
‘Get these off,’ he huddles over the taller man, pulling insistently at the robes. Ren, dreamlike, obeys, shedding them like a snake free of old skin.   
Beneath the swathes of fabric, he is the colour of milk, strapped with muscle. Hux spots the constellation of freckles on Ren’s collarbone and looks away, glancing instead at the black and purple bruises, the flushed open wounds.   
He is suddenly aware of the flush creeping up his neck, and removes himself, stalking to the bathroom, running the shower faucet hot and hard.   
‘Get in.’ Hux tries in vain for spite but it still falls flat. Ren has remained immobile, shivering, blood still sickly crimson under the bright lights. He barely even seems conscious. There is no sense of victory for Hux, here,. It is loss and damage to them both.   
The steam begins to mist over the glass. The General knows he should be furious. But Ren is too impaired, far too jolted.   
And the pity claws again. So unbecoming.   
Hux leans down, takes the taller man tentatively by the elbow, leading him to stand under the spray. Ren stands limply, raising a hand to his face. There are tears now, spilling over, mixing in the drain alongside the blood. He seems unaware that it is Hux there. There is no shame or fury, no hot temper that Hux might have expected. Instead, it is a blank nothingness.   
He stands there, in silent agony, for five minutes, before Hux drags him out and cloaks him in a robe from one of the drawers.   
‘I’ll call a medical droid,’ Hux says, stern, but Ren shakes his head. He still shivers, uncontrollably, leaning on the bed, turned away.   
And in that moment, Hux does not know what makes him do it, but he reaches over and closes a warm hand around the other man’s wrist, turning it over to see the pale skin, feeling the pulse skitter under his thumb.   
He feels it, the turbulence, throbbing underneath the surface, but under his grasp it seems to slowly correct. Steadier, slowly, the pace becomes less manic. He keeps his hand there for the better part of ten minutes, until he senses Ren stiffen and his posture begin to realign.   
As soon as it seems the clarity has returned, crowding back inside the warm room between them, Hux takes his hand away. 

‘What happened?’ It had to be asked. Hux keeps his tone carefully lofty, on edge.   
Ren does not turn.   
‘My father…and the girl… ‘   
‘Your father?’   
Ren glances up, and Hux sees the fury, and understands. He is not sure whether Ren asks for censure or praise, so he remains silent.   
A few moments longer, and the room seems to cool.   
‘Why did you help me?’   
‘It was not for you.’ Hux replies, but his gaze lingers at the cleft of Ren’s pale throat, the full lip caught between teeth. ‘I was following the orders of the Supreme Leader.’   
Ren’s hard gaze runs over him in turn, dwelling on the blood still spotted on his sleeve, the snow still clinging to his boots.   
‘You’ll rest here,’ Hux clears his throat. ‘I’ll send a droid to see to your arm. We journey on in a few hours. You and I.’   
He turns on his heel to leave.   
‘Then you’re not in need of my gratitude.’ It is a statement, not a question. Ren’s tone is blank, but his hoarse voice still bears the shadow of his wounds.   
‘I didn’t ask for it,’ Hux counters, coldly.   
‘You’ll save this one up for payback, I suppose.’   
The milk white skin and the smattering of freckles across Ren’s collarbone crowd to the front of Hux’s mind.   
He does not turn around, lest the other man see the colour of his face.   
‘I need no reimbursement.’   
Later, while trying to rest, General Hux tries not to imagine the expression Kylo Ren gave his retreating back.


End file.
